The Continuance of a Journey
by rightxhere
Summary: He'd swore he'd never return there as long as he lived, but two and a half years after being ferried away in a wooden crate he found himself standing before the Iron Throne once again. SANRION.


**Title:** The Continuance of a Journey  
**Author:** Demelza  
**Disclaimer:** Game of Thrones and its characters belong to GRRM and HBO. I'm just borrowing them here for a little while. No infringements of any copyrights are intended.  
**Genre:** AU  
**Pairing:** Tyrion/Sansa  
**Rating:** O15  
**Warnings:** Major character death  
**Summary:** He'd swore he'd never return there as long as he lived, but two and a half years after being ferried away in a wooden crate he found himself standing before the Iron Throne once again.  
**Author's Note:** Beta'd by me. Mistakes are mine. *g*

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_At times I almost dream  
I too have spent a life the sages' way,  
And tread once more familiar paths. Perchance  
I perished in an arrogant self-reliance  
Ages ago; and in that act a prayer  
For one more chance went up so earnest, so  
Instinct with better light let in by death,  
That life was blotted out — not so completely  
But scattered wrecks enough of it remain,  
Dim memories, as now, when once more seems  
The goal in sight again._  
- Robert Browning

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He'd swore he'd never return there as long as he lived, but two and a half years after being ferried away in a wooden crate he found himself standing before the Iron Throne once again. He'd wanted to remind himself how low he had been in the eyes of his father and the rest of his family, but more than that he'd wanted one last glimpse at the cursed object that had brought him a lifetime of pain.

As he stood there, the flickering of raging fires casting the room aglow, footsteps sounded behind him.

He turned his head just enough to catch a glimpse of Ser Merryn approaching, but he put up no defence, instead he turned back to the throne as the guard raised his broadsword and plunged it into his back.

In that moment, he was finally free.

He fell to the floor like a leaf descending to the earth, and it was in that moment that he saw her: dressed in a white gown she was a vision of beauty, her red hair radiant while a warm smile curved those same beautiful lips he'd once kissed before the eyes of Gods and men.

She came to him with sorrow in her blue eyes, and bent to take his hands in hers.

For a heartbeat his every misdeed and craven act flittered away.

But his heart grew heavy. He was undeserving of the light, of the goodness she embodied, and so he clutched onto the memories of every bad thing he'd done and wrenched his hands from hers.

Hollow darkness descended upon him. It reached into his chest, cold as ice, and squeezed his heart so tight he let out a scream.

_This-this is all I deserve._

But he could still see her, he could still see her pale form before him.

She reached her hands out to him again, and when their fingertips touched she suddenly recoiled and screamed out in agony. Stab wound after stab wound ripped her abdomen apart until blood ran free.

_Sansa, no!_

Her tear-filled eyes met his again, and when his gaze drifted to her hands he saw it: he saw one of Petyr Baelish's prized daggers in her grip, blood dripping from its silver tip, and he realized in that breath-stealing moment that the rumour of her suicide had been true.

The darkness encircled her as it had him, it darkened her eyes and made her scream as if, like him, every last fragment of her soul was being crushed into dust.

And then... they began to rise together until all that surrounded them was nothingness.

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Sudden pain struck inside the boy's head and caused him to drop the bowls of vegetables and overcooked meat he'd been carrying with a clatter.

"You daft boy!" he heard the inn keeper yell as he dropped to his knees to clean up the mess.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he muttered as he replaced the now dirty food into the bowls. All around him there was laughter. He tried hard not to cry, but he was a boy of four and ten and all he ever seemed to do was fuck everything up.

Suddenly, someone was grabbing him by the back of his grubby tunic and pulling him to his feet. "I'm done letting you waste good food," the inn keeper yelled, "Get out of here, you useless bastard!"

Tears prickled the boy's eyes and he limped his way towards the inn's exit. Sunlight greeted him the moment he stepped from the doorway, worsening the pain in his head. He walked as fast as his hobbled ankle could support him, stumbling every so many steps on the uneven, cobbled footpath.

"Where you going, bastard?" a boy of five and ten taunted, joining him at his side.

"H-home," he answered, desperate to be as far from the other boy as he could.

The older boy was joined by his two friends.

"We'll walk with you, won't we boys?"

"I haven't any coins," he quickly confessed.

"Well, that's okay - I can think of other ways you can pay."

Suddenly, he was pushed and pulled into the nearest alley, shoved against the stone wall opposite the armoury. He dared not look at the other boys as the lay their fists into his gut, or as they pulled him back to his feet and beat him all over again.

"Enough," the older boy said, and he was grateful for the reprieve from his beating. Only, it was short-lived, and the elder boy punched him in the nose. "That's for wasting my time, Rivers."

The eldest boy tussled his hair before leaving, while one of the other boys punched him in the head for good measure.

As the three left, he wiped his nose with his sleeve and began to tremble when he lowered his arm and saw the recognizable streak of red. _Blood. _His head hurt worse, but it was a different kind of pain than before.

"Are you okay?" he heard a girl ask, and he looked across the alley at the rear entrance of the armoury. There he saw a soft-featured brunette standing in the doorway.

As she took two small steps towards him, he felt deep inside him that there was something about her, something he couldn't quite place that was familiarto him. When she stopped, he supposed she'd sensed his thoughts and would make a quick retreat, but instead she repeated her question, "Are you okay?"

"I..." He wiped his nose once more, and this time the sight of the blood made his already weak legs feel weaker still.

"Oh, you poor boy, what _did _they do to you?"

The girl approached, and as she slipped her arm around him he caught the fragrant scent of lilies in her hair.

"What they always do," he answered, and when they reached the crates outside the door of the armoury she helped him sit down.

"They always beat you like this?" she asked, grabbing the hem of her apron and tearing a section off.

Numb, he nodded.

"That's terrible."

He wished he could agree that it was, but it was so common in occurrence that he had grown accustom to dealing with the blows dealt to him by his former friends.

The girl, no more than a year older than himself, took the strip of her apron and tore it in two. "Here, for your nose," she said, handing him one of the sections.

"Thank you," he managed, pressing the scrunched up cloth to his nose.

"I'm Enyth," the girl said, stepping closer. "Enyth Aylwood."

She tended to the cut on his brow in silence, and he wondered why a girl like Enyth cared to help a lame bastard such as himself.

"Do you have a name?" Enyth soon inquired.

_I'm no one_, he wanted to tell her. _A mere bastard._

"Shadrich," he found himself replying.

"Rivers?" Enyth asked, and with a jaw clenched with guilt Shadrich nodded. "My mother had no father," she confided, placing her fingertips under his jaw to lift his face to hers. "Her surname was Flowers, until she and my father were married."

"Oh."

He'd met many bastards in his short life, but never the legitimate child of one.

"Why don't you fight those boys?"

Shadrich dropped his gaze. He'd been tormented and bullied his whole life, and sometimes he felt as if it had been his card in lifetimes beyond this one too. _Doubtless_, he'd tell himself, _it will be my lot in the next life as well._

"I have no father. No claim. I'm lame..." He lifted his gaze to hers, and for the first time he felt no shame in the tears that welled in his eyes. "...friendless."

Enyth gently shook her head, "You're not friendless." She lowered his hand and the bloodied cloth from his nose, tilted his head back to appraise him properly, smiled and let her fingertips fall free from his chin.

His hand caught hers, the move making Enyth's breath hitch in her throat. "Thank you, my lady," he said.

"You were kind to me once," she said after a moment, and he stared at her with puzzlement. "It was a lifetime ago but I... I remember you were _kind to me_." She dropped her gaze to their hands, a small laugh escaping her lips, "Isn't that the strangest thing you ever heard?"

"No," Shadrich replied, carefully pushing himself to his feet. He winced from the pain in his stomach, from the niggling pain in his ankle that had plagued him since he was a babe. "I feel it too," he admitted, lightly squeezing her hand.

Without reason other than the surge of happiness soaring through them both, they pulled one another into a hug and began to laugh.


End file.
